The Ariel University Center of Samaria aspires to become a fully accredited university. Dozens of graduate students conduct research in several fields, including science and technology, in its state-of-the-art labs. The modern, well-groomed campus is located on a hilltop overlooking breathtaking biblical landscapes dotted with olive groves and picturesque Arab villages.
But it is part of a West Bank settlement near Nablus that most of the world considers illegal. Many Israelis, including some academics, see it as an embarrassment, want nothing to do with it, and have fiercely opposed its attempts to gain full university status.
Ariel and its 20,000 residents hit the national headlines recently after scores of Israeli artists said they would boycott a new theater and cultural center that opened this month as a protest against the continuing Israeli occupation of the West Bank.
Nationalist politicians hail the university as a symbol of the success of Israel’s settlement project. Israeli flags fly proudly in every classroom, each student must take courses in Israeli history, and many of the male students wear the distinctive large, knitted skullcaps and dangling, fringed clothing typical of ultra-right-wing settlers.
But the center is far from being a fortress only for Jewish students. There are 500 Israeli Arab students among the 9,000 undergraduates studying at the university, making up about 6 percent of the students. By comparison, Arab students at Israeli colleges on average are about 12 percent of the student population. Their presence at an institution that symbolizes the Israeli occupation and is the largest Israeli employer in the West Bank comes as a surprise to outsiders.
Administrators at the Ariel University Center are proud to have the Arab students, saying their enrollment is an example of loyalty and equality among Israeli citizens. For their part, the Arab students seem not to feel uncomfortable attending the college despite its reputation and location.
“On campus the fact that we are in occupied territory is irrelevant—it doesn’t affect us at all. We leave all the politics outside,” says Manar Dewany, a 20-year-old student in math and computer science who commutes each day from the Israeli Arab town of Taybeh.
“I never even considered it a reason for not coming here,” Ms. Dewany says. “I have no problem with it. Why not come here? This place is full of Arabs. Politics aren’t a problem here. It’s not even discussed. Studies are one thing and politics are another.
“Relations on campus are fine, natural. Everyone gets on well with each other. I was the only Arab student in my class last year, and I was treated the same as everyone else.”
Checkpoint Challenges
Thabet Masaru and Mahmoud Asle are both 22-year-old students in electrical engineering from the Galilee village of Kfar Kana, too far away for an easy commute. They live in the university’s dorms and tell a similar story about campus life, but the two say it’s a different story when they reach the military checkpoint marking the border between Israel and the West Bank.
“The situation with the checkpoint can be tough. We are always getting stopped and pulled out on the bus to show our ID,” Mr. Masaru says. “This place is a little sensitive. If I were somewhere else—Tel Aviv, for example—I wouldn’t get hassled like that. Once you’re inside the campus, it’s fine. Some people are friendly, others aren’t, but you don’t get any problems just because you are an Arab. In the dorms, everyone gets along with each other. I’ve never seen any trouble there.”
Adds Mr. Asle: “It doesn’t bother me that the college is in a settlement. It’s not something so extraordinary. The studies here are very good. I’ve made friends from all over the country.”
The presence of so many Arab students is a byproduct of the college’s policy in favor of minorities and new immigrants, particularly students of Ethiopian and Russian origin.
Israel’s seven research universities require an SAT-style psychometric test that many experts say is biased in favor of students from a Hebrew-literate, Western-educated home. Immigrant and Arab students score significantly lower on the psychometric test than on high-school matriculation exams, which are similar to the French baccalaureate. The college waives psychometric tests in most subjects for applicants with good high-school matriculation grades.
“There aren’t many Ethiopians in Israeli universities because of the psychometric,” says Yerushalayim Almey, 24, an Ethiopian-born student of economics and business management. “Here they just require a good matriculation grade. I had a 94 average from high school. I did the psychometric and got a low grade. That’s one of the reasons I came here.”
“The psychometric is all geared toward Western cultural ways of thinking,” she adds. “In the house where I grew up, there was no such vocabulary. My parents didn’t have the language.”
Ms. Almey says her family was concerned when she first came to the university because she would be traveling into the West Bank.
“There is that fear that you have to travel here, and it’s defined as occupied territory, but we’re not scared,” she says. “I think this is part of Israel. It’s already an Israeli town. If you negate Ariel, in a few years you’ll be negating Tel Aviv.”
Yigal Razumovich, 24, an Ariel resident born in Belarus and self-described “right-wing settler and proud Jew,” was waiting for his next class with Mr. Masaru and Mr. Asle. A semiprofessional goalkeeper for the local Betar Ariel soccer team, Mr. Razumovich used to be the only Jewish player on the team in Kfar Kassem, an Arab town in the Galilee.
“I don’t care what someone is—black, white, Muslim, Arab—everyone is a human being. I accept everyone. There are some who create problems and others who are fine. These guys are my friends—that’s it,” he says.
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